NEW TOWN, OLD PROBLEMS
by Mike Collins
Summary: new slayer, new town, same problems. Not finished
1. Default Chapter

NEW TOWN, OLD PROBLEMS  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
"... so then I said to him, I said to him, 'Look, Jim, if it doesn't fit, then take it back! I mean, what's the problem?..."  
  
"....then he turns inside Carr, and BANG!! Top left corner, keeper no chance, GET IN HENRY!!! 2-1!...."  
  
"....no, no, you'll have to move it back. I'm free Monday? Sweet. Let's say, twelve at Mario's? Great, I'll see you then..."  
  
Voices intruding on the quiet. Who were all these people? Where was she? For that matter, who was she?  
  
She got up, slowly, shaking her head to clear the sleep and the cobwebs from her brain. She looked around to get her bearings. She seemed to be in a small alleyway, just off a main street. It was dusk, and a light rain was falling. Detritus; rubbish bags, overflowing, fast food cartons and an overturned table filled the alley. The girl's nose wrinkled in disgust as she realised she had been lying next to a used condom. Hope I get my deposit back, she thought wearily. She looked towards the mouth of the alley and that was when the voice, more strident and persuasive than the phantoms she had heard before, spoke to her from the shadows behind her.  
  
"Hey, babe, got a cigarette?"  
  
She turned, putting out one hand to the rain-slicked wall to steady herself, and saw a woman, perhaps a few years older than herself (it was all coming back to her now, yes! All but who she was), sitting on a crate at the end of the alley. The woman rose with a feline grace, and swiftly moved to stand in front of her. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness. "Got a fag I can ponce off you, love?" she crooned. Her accent seemed strange, somewhat coarse. Nevertheless, it was an accent the girl recognised. Sunnydale, her mind whispered. "I don't smoke", she said. The woman laughed: it was a beautiful, chilling sound. "Well, if I can't suck on a cancer-stick, what can I suck on then? Got any ideas, sweetie?"  
And suddenly, it all came rushing back as the woman's face changed, grew elongated and ridged and formed itself into the monster's visage, it all came screaming back: the horror, the pain, the killing. The vampire lunged for the girl, and she swayed back instantly, long forgotten reflexes and training clicking back into action. She flipped backwards onto her hands, held the pose for a split-second, and whirled to strike the vampire full in the face with her left leg, spinning the creature backwards onto the ground. Whirling around again, the girl saw the upturned table, and snapped a leg off as the vampire recovered its feet.  
"I don't smoke, and neither should you," she said, and plunged the makeshift stake deep into the vampire's heart.  
  
"You know those things'll kill ya."  
  
In an instant, the vampire was dust, and the girl turned to the mouth of the alley and the main street, brushing off the mud and dirt from her leather trousers. With the violence had returned her memory; she remembered that accent now, knew where she was now.  
"Spike," she murmured softly, and turned her face into the softly falling rain. "So, I'm in London." A tight grin crossed her face. "Well, that's five by five."  
  
Faith joined the throngs on Oxford Street, unaware that her presence had already been noted.  
  
Chapter one  
  
Pete McCafferey was not your usual Watcher, but then the Council had undergone some rather stressful changes in recent times, and a change of direction was being sought. The 'quite insufferable girl' (in Marcus's terms) running the show in the US had brought some rather harsh truths home to the Council leadership - namely that the Council was a little out of touch for the 21st century. So (Marcus had said) there was now a conscious change of direction in place, leading away from the somewhat stuffy old guard (Pete's words) to a new, street-smart generation of Watchers. Pete was very confident that, within five or so years, he would be able to call himself 'a usual Watcher'.  
Twenty-three years old, tall and slim, with shoulder length blonde hair, Pete looked more at home in a rock band or on the football field than as a research fellow for the University of Westminster, and his looks and general behaviour had earned him the nickname 'Becks' among the Council's trainees, one that publicly irked him but privately delighted him. Marcus, who had absolutely no knowledge of football - he was a cricket man - professed absolute ignorance as to why Pete was called so. Indeed, Marcus Brigstoke was quite the opposite of the ebullient, outgoing Pete. Small, and younger than he looked, Pete had given him the nickname Denholm, as he looked pretty much the spit of the actor Denholm Elliott. Among the students of Westminster University, where Marcus also worked, they were looked on as chalk and cheese. In reality, they were an excellent partnership, for both the university and the Council.  
  
It was Marcus who had spotted the Slayer, walking down Oxford Street with her eyes full of wonder, but it was Pete who approached her. Both men felt this wise, with their knowledge of Faith's temperament. Just at the corner of Oxford and Regent Street Pete caught up with the Slayer and asked cheerfully, "Christmas lights are nice, aren't they?" Faith turned, and the wonder dropped abruptly from her eyes. Wariness and danger filled them instead. "Who are you?" she asked. Marcus looked to Pete and almost seemed to quiver with fear. Pete was unperturbed, however. "Oh, sorry, I should introduce myself. I'm Pete. This" waving a hand in Marcus's general direction "is Marcus. What's your name?" He started to ask Faith if she wanted a drink but was cut off. "I'm not in the mood for dancing. Boys, and you don't want to push it. Got it?"  
Marcus's heart sank, but Pete just smiled. "Got it in one, my love. We'll just give your regards to Travers, shall we?" And he took Marcus's arm and turned, knowing she would call them back. Which she did.  
"Wait a minute. You can't be from the Council!" "Perhaps not," replied Pete, "but he is." He pointed to Marcus. Faith sighed, looked down at her feet, and seemed to consider for a moment. Then she looked up. When she did, Pete thought his legs would dissolve; she was beautiful when she smiled. "Let's go and get a drink."  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Lucius smiled as they took the boy, fed upon him, and cast his body aside. It was always the babies who tasted the best, their fear mingling with their wonder and producing blood so rich, so fresh, that a man could almost drown in it. They were like those Big Macs the adolescents of his brood loved so much - they were just moreish!  
His crew (Cosmo had gotten the word from the Ocean's Eleven film they had watched not so long ago) numbered fourteen, a powerful number, overpowering unlucky thirteen. They had accepted no new members for over sixty years. Other vampire factions in London numbered into the hundreds but none touched Lucius's members, or his territory. As much as any vampire can be scared, they were scared of Lucius. They were scared of him, because frankly he was crazy. The vampires of London still remembered the time he had attacked the Mayor, Ken Livingstone, in bright sunshine on the banks of the Thames, his bloodlust merging with his hatred of what he called the 'bastard Commie'. After two minutes of frenzied feeding, with his skin smoking and smouldering and armed police pouring bullets into him, he had dived off the Mayor and into the river. He needed three months to recuperate from the pain and the madness, and his skin still seethed whenever they were out at night and ran afoul of what he called 'the congestion charge'. In the community of vampires, madness reaches a certain point, and then it is respected. Lucius had passed that point long ago.  
The tranquillity of the den was shattered when Laverneus stormed in, shuddering. "Master!" he shrieked. "Master!" "What is it?" asked Lucius mildly, stirring from his place of repose. "trouble, boss," replied Morse, who had just followed Laverneus in. "Britney has gone."  
A look of mild consternation crossed the face of Lucius. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"  
"She has been slain, Master." The words rippled through Lucius's head. Slain! Slain! "So we have-" "Yes boss," replied Morse, showing a calmness he did not feel. "She took Britney with one blow." Lucius smiled. This was good news! A Slayer in London. 


	2. New Town, Old Problems

NEW TOWN, OLD PROBLEMS  
  
PROLOGUE  
  
"... so then I said to him, I said to him, 'Look, Jim, if it doesn't fit, then take it back! I mean, what's the problem?..."  
  
"....then he turns inside Carr, and BANG!! Top left corner, keeper no chance, GET IN HENRY!!! 2-1!...."  
  
"....no, no, you'll have to move it back. I'm free Monday? Sweet. Let's say, twelve at Mario's? Great, I'll see you then..."  
  
Voices intruding on the quiet. Who were all these people? Where was she? For that matter, who was she?  
  
She got up, slowly, shaking her head to clear the sleep and the cobwebs from her brain. She looked around to get her bearings. She seemed to be in a small alleyway, just off a main street. It was dusk, and a light rain was falling. Detritus; rubbish bags, overflowing, fast food cartons and an overturned table filled the alley. The girl's nose wrinkled in disgust as she realised she had been lying next to a used condom. Hope I get my deposit back, she thought wearily. She looked towards the mouth of the alley and that was when the voice, more strident and persuasive than the phantoms she had heard before, spoke to her from the shadows behind her.  
  
"Hey, babe, got a cigarette?"  
  
She turned, putting out one hand to the rain-slicked wall to steady herself, and saw a woman, perhaps a few years older than herself (it was all coming back to her now, yes! All but who she was), sitting on a crate at the end of the alley. The woman rose with a feline grace, and swiftly moved to stand in front of her. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness. "Got a fag I can ponce off you, love?" she crooned. Her accent seemed strange, somewhat coarse. Nevertheless, it was an accent the girl recognised. Sunnydale, her mind whispered. "I don't smoke", she said. The woman laughed: it was a beautiful, chilling sound. "Well, if I can't suck on a cancer-stick, what can I suck on then? Got any ideas, sweetie?"  
And suddenly, it all came rushing back as the woman's face changed, grew elongated and ridged and formed itself into the monster's visage, it all came screaming back: the horror, the pain, the killing. The vampire lunged for the girl, and she swayed back instantly, long forgotten reflexes and training clicking back into action. She flipped backwards onto her hands, held the pose for a split-second, and whirled to strike the vampire full in the face with her left leg, spinning the creature backwards onto the ground. Whirling around again, the girl saw the upturned table, and snapped a leg off as the vampire recovered its feet.  
"I don't smoke, and neither should you," she said, and plunged the makeshift stake deep into the vampire's heart.  
  
"You know those things'll kill ya."  
  
In an instant, the vampire was dust, and the girl turned to the mouth of the alley and the main street, brushing off the mud and dirt from her leather trousers. With the violence had returned her memory; she remembered that accent now, knew where she was now.  
"Spike," she murmured softly, and turned her face into the softly falling rain. "So, I'm in London." A tight grin crossed her face. "Well, that's five by five."  
  
Faith joined the throngs on Oxford Street, unaware that her presence had already been noted.  
  
Chapter one  
  
Pete McCafferey was not your usual Watcher, but then the Council had undergone some rather stressful changes in recent times, and a change of direction was being sought. The 'quite insufferable girl' (in Marcus's terms) running the show in the US had brought some rather harsh truths home to the Council leadership - namely that the Council was a little out of touch for the 21st century. So (Marcus had said) there was now a conscious change of direction in place, leading away from the somewhat stuffy old guard (Pete's words) to a new, street-smart generation of Watchers. Pete was very confident that, within five or so years, he would be able to call himself 'a usual Watcher'.  
Twenty-three years old, tall and slim, with shoulder length blonde hair, Pete looked more at home in a rock band or on the football field than as a research fellow for the University of Westminster, and his looks and general behaviour had earned him the nickname 'Becks' among the Council's trainees, one that publicly irked him but privately delighted him. Marcus, who had absolutely no knowledge of football - he was a cricket man - professed absolute ignorance as to why Pete was called so. Indeed, Marcus Brigstoke was quite the opposite of the ebullient, outgoing Pete. Small, and younger than he looked, Pete had given him the nickname Denholm, as he looked pretty much the spit of the actor Denholm Elliott. Among the students of Westminster University, where Marcus also worked, they were looked on as chalk and cheese. In reality, they were an excellent partnership, for both the university and the Council.  
  
It was Marcus who had spotted the Slayer, walking down Oxford Street with her eyes full of wonder, but it was Pete who approached her. Both men felt this wise, with their knowledge of Faith's temperament. Just at the corner of Oxford and Regent Street Pete caught up with the Slayer and asked cheerfully, "Christmas lights are nice, aren't they?" Faith turned, and the wonder dropped abruptly from her eyes. Wariness and danger filled them instead. "Who are you?" she asked. Marcus looked to Pete and almost seemed to quiver with fear. Pete was unperturbed, however. "Oh, sorry, I should introduce myself. I'm Pete. This" waving a hand in Marcus's general direction "is Marcus. What's your name?" He started to ask Faith if she wanted a drink but was cut off. "I'm not in the mood for dancing. Boys, and you don't want to push it. Got it?"  
Marcus's heart sank, but Pete just smiled. "Got it in one, my love. We'll just give your regards to Travers, shall we?" And he took Marcus's arm and turned, knowing she would call them back. Which she did.  
"Wait a minute. You can't be from the Council!" "Perhaps not," replied Pete, "but he is." He pointed to Marcus. Faith sighed, looked down at her feet, and seemed to consider for a moment. Then she looked up. When she did, Pete thought his legs would dissolve; she was beautiful when she smiled. "Let's go and get a drink."  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Lucius smiled as they took the boy, fed upon him, and cast his body aside. It was always the babies who tasted the best, their fear mingling with their wonder and producing blood so rich, so fresh, that a man could almost drown in it. They were like those Big Macs the adolescents of his brood loved so much - they were just moreish!  
His crew (Cosmo had gotten the word from the Ocean's Eleven film they had watched not so long ago) numbered fourteen, a powerful number, overpowering unlucky thirteen. They had accepted no new members for over sixty years. Other vampire factions in London numbered into the hundreds but none touched Lucius's members, or his territory. As much as any vampire can be scared, they were scared of Lucius. They were scared of him, because frankly he was crazy. The vampires of London still remembered the time he had attacked the Mayor, Ken Livingstone, in bright sunshine on the banks of the Thames, his bloodlust merging with his hatred of what he called the 'bastard Commie'. After two minutes of frenzied feeding, with his skin smoking and smouldering and armed police pouring bullets into him, he had dived off the Mayor and into the river. He needed three months to recuperate from the pain and the madness, and his skin still seethed whenever they were out at night and ran afoul of what he called 'the congestion charge'. In the community of vampires, madness reaches a certain point, and then it is respected. Lucius had passed that point long ago.  
The tranquillity of the den was shattered when Laverneus stormed in, shuddering. "Master!" he shrieked. "Master!" "What is it?" asked Lucius mildly, stirring from his place of repose. "trouble, boss," replied Morse, who had just followed Laverneus in. "Britney has gone."  
A look of mild consternation crossed the face of Lucius. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"  
"She has been slain, Master." The words rippled through Lucius's head. Slain! Slain! "So we have-" "Yes boss," replied Morse, showing a calmness he did not feel. "She took Britney with one blow." Lucius smiled. This was good news! A Slayer in London.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
These boys need a life, stat, Faith thought to herself as Pete led them into the bar. To her eyes (and she had been in a lot of bars during the last few years) the place was as dead as the graveyards in which she had spent so much time. Called 'Ryans', it was a small, oak-furnished room, smoke-filled and dark, with a small bar, about twelve feet long taking up the far side of the wall. A solitary young woman was stood, hands desultorily placed either side of her head, elbows resting on the bar. Between her arms rested a glass half full with a dark liquid which could have been Coke but probably wasn't, and an overflowing ashtray. Other than this perfect image of lethargy, the bar was deserted. A small television, mounted in the corner on the wall adjacent to the bar, was showing Anne Robinson soundlessly insulting hapless contestants. There were half a dozen or so booths lining the walls, furnished with mahogany benches which seemed to absorb the light from the brass fixtures gamely attempting to illuminate the dank corners of the room. Faith had killed vampires with more life in them than this place.  
"Let me guess," she said. "The Council's favourite hangout, right? I bet you hire this place out for your Christmas parties." Marcus gave her a rather reproachful look. Pete ignored her and strode to the bar and the lifeless barmaid. He turned. "What do you want?" he asked Faith with a smile. ""I don't suppose they have a cocktail list," she replied tartly, "so I'll just have a fruit juice, thanks." At this, the barmaid looked up, saw Pete, and life flowed into her features like wine into a glass. She regarded Pete with my-hero eyes. "Petey! How are ya, darlin?" "Fine thanks, Rosie," Pete replied with a rather harried look on his face. The girl had obviously set her cap for the Watcher a long time ago. "Pint of Fosters, Bells on ice and an orange juice, please." As Pete paid for the drinks and tried to extricate himself from Rosie's amorous gaze, Faith joined Marcus in the booth by the door. Marcus was trying to get sound on the telly with the remote control. He threw the remote on the table with a "Bloody thing," of disgust and sat down. He looked at the slayer. "Please, Faith, sit down." Faith did so. "I can understand what you're thinking," Marcus said. "We know that the Council haven't always treated you, erm, with, ah, " he completed his words in a rush, almost as one word, "theutmostofrespect!" He looked back to the bar, where Pete was vainly trying to leave with their drinks but seemed captured in Rosie's clutches. He looked back to Faith, who sat, quiet and intent. He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, and spoke again, more forcefully, and Faith began to see the determination and strength that lay behind his timid image.  
"What I mean to say is that things have changed over here. The Council has realised its past mistakes, and has begun arranging its resources in a more efficient way. We are in a much more stable position now; our learning and research facilities are just that - geared to producing and training Watchers well versed in the arts and disciplines of our field. Our operations units are well-balanced, capable people. The rather bloodthirsty characters that populated what we called 'wetworks' have been weeded out. The mistakes that allowed rogue elements to filter through our ranks have been eradicated. I'm talking no more Gwendolyn Post, no more Ethan Rayne. no more Quentin Travers. Peter only mentioned the name to get your attention - "  
"And I apologise for that," Pete said, returning to the table. He handed Faith her juice, Marcus the shot of whiskey, and took the pint for himself. "I can assure you, Faith, that Travers and his crazy schemes have gone from our organisation for good." Faith looked at Pete and saw that the friendly, carefree young man who could charm the ladies with a smile was gone. In his place was a hard, decisive man. He reminded her of Rupert Giles. He sat back, sipped his pint, and continued to regard her with his deep brown eyes, eyes, she realised belatedly, were the same colour as her own. Stop it! she cursed herself fiercely. Get your shit together, girl!  
"Well, boys, that's just fine, but your Frasier and Niles routine still ain't answered the question, has it?" She allowed a sliver of anger to enter her voice, gauging their reactions. "What the hell do you want?" Neither flinched, she saw.  
  
"We want nothing, Faith." Pete said. "I'll admit, I have trained as a Watcher for almost ten years" - he rather enjoyed the way her eyes flickered in surprise at that - " and you are still considered the Holy Grail for us. In truth, nobody is all that bothered about Buffy any more, not since she washed her hands of us, but you are, and always have been, something different." Marcus nodded, sipping at his whiskey. "That doesn't mean anything though. Not here, and not now. What do you want? Why did you come to London?" Faith stared at him, tried to find some smart arse comment, and couldn't come up with anything. She started to speak, stopped, started again, and came up empty. The two men waited, saying nothing, studying her. Abruptly, the television flared into full sound; "Well, team! Out of a possible one thousand poouundsss, you managed just twenty poouundsss!!! Hardly impressive, is it? I urge you to DITCH the DUNCE! It's time.. to VOTE OFF - the WEAKEST LINK!!!" Faith began to speak, faltering at first.  
"I, I don't know. I just don't know, dammit!!" She looked up at them, eyes pleading. "Last I remember, I was in some crummy graveyard, waiting for some badass monster so I could get down to some ass kicking action, and I got hit on the head and I wake up in this, this, this shitty goddam alley! An' there's this girl, only she's not a girl, she's one of them, ya know? An' she's there, and she changes just like that, an' I barely got out of there alive, alright? So Iwas wandering around, looking at stuff, an' then you two show up, an' I'm still not thinking straight an' then you say 'Oh, Travers gives his regards an' let's go for a drink' - You ask me what I want. OK," she stopped, breathing hard, her dark hair falling across her eyes. She lifted her glass and polished off the juice in one draught. She smiled. It was a rather chilling smile. "I'll tell you what I want. I want some goddam booze."  
  
Pete stood to go to the bar, and that was when the vampires attacked.  
  
There were six of them, junior members of Lucius's crew, and they were bloodthirsty and eager to make an impression. All male, and all full of the power that made them so dangerous, the power of the demon that had infested them. They burst through the front door, and literally poured into the bar, one vaulting across the bar to fall on the hapless Rosie, clawed hands snapping her neck brutally, instantly. It happened so fast she died with her adoring my-hero eyes still fixed upon Pete.  
The other five surrounded the table. One stepped forward, and pointed. "Slayer." He said, a sick grin crossing his face. The other five (Rosie's killer had now joined them) all produced that same smile. "You're more famous than Jesus Christ, you know. And soon, just as dead."  
Pete clapped him on the back, his charming smile back on his face, and cried with hearty good cheer, "Danny! Good to see you, my man! How you been?" The vampire turned, smiling almost in spite of himself. "Yeah, not b- " he began, and that was as far as he got, because Pete slammed a broken chair leg directly into his heart, and the vamp became instant dust. "NOW!" Pete screamed, and, Marcus stood. Pete threw him the stake and Marcus launched his small frame at the nearest vampire, his fancy denim jacket covered with the dusty remnants of his leader. Faith, meanwhile, had leapt to her feet and jammed an elbow into the side of the nearest vamp's head, jarring his neck back. "I need a weapon!" she shouted, turning and launching a straight, flat forearm into the next vamp's windpipe. He went down hard, crumpled on the floor. Pete vaulted backwards, the vamp who had approached him somewhat taken by surprise, and landed next to a barstool. He quickly upended it, and shoved the stool's legs into the vamp's chest. As soon as it took, and the vamp expired, Pete snapped off two of the stool's legs. Taking one for himself, he threw the other in Faith's general direction -  
  
Only for it to land in the outstretched hand of a very large, very heavy vamp who stood in front of the slayer.  
"Looking for this, girlie?" he leered at Faith. He began to move towards her, just as the two she had already attacked got to their feet and began to cut off her line of escape. Marcus was pinned down with his vamp, and there was a bruise forming on his cheek, but he was holding his own, driving the creature backwards with fierce kicks to the head and body, so Pete went to Faith's aid. He realised four seconds later that she really didn't need his help.  
Faith launched herself backwards and over the heads of the two vamps behind her; they were now in front of her, and they turned to each other, identical looks of bewilderment on their faces. She took one step forward and swivelled on her left foot, bringing her right up instantly. Pete heard the crack! As she made bone shuddering contact with the head of the left hand vamp, and he went down again, hard. Using the momentum her swivel kick had given her, Faith twisted and leaped into the air, and landed another right foot kick on the side of Right Hand vamp's head. He went down even harder. Finishing the movement, she leaped onto the bar, then, using it for leverage, jumped off the top of the bar and connected with a heavy boot to the temple of Vamp number three, dislodging the stake from his hand, and as he fell, she plucked it out of the air. Three quick stabs, and it was over, and the roars of the demons' passing was accompanied by the scream of Marcus as he plunged his own stake into the heart of his own opponent.  
It was over. Faith rose, dropped the stake, and turned to Pete, who was regarding the fallen barmaid soberly. "Is she-" "Yeah. She never stood a chance." Marcus joined them, rubbing the bruise on his face. "We did, though. They weren't very good, were they?" he said. "Good enough," Pete replied sadly. He bent, lifted Rosie's body off the floor, and laid her on the top of the bar. "Goodnight, girl," he said, and closed her eyes. He straightened. Looked at the others. "Let's get out of here," he said. None of them noticed the figure stooped in the corner of the bar as they left. He raised his hand and sipped from a pint of bitter, drank long, and wiped his lips. He ran his tongue across his fangs as he said, "Bollocks." 


	3. Stop the press, who is that?

Chapter Four  
  
As they went to Pete's car, not exactly running, Faith caught Marcus's arm and pulled him to a stop. "What did you mean?" she asked. "When you said they weren't very good, I mean. " Pete had stopped too, head cocked, listening. Marcus glanced at him, the bruise on his cheek standing out livid in the streetlights, and drew out his breath in a large puff! "That is the third vampire I have bested in four years of doing this," he said. "I am not the most war-like of men, and neither is Peter, for all of our training. But you must have noticed it - they were slow, and weak, and unused to resistance. I'm not sure that they even realised what the significance of the Slayer meant to them. Six vampires against the Slayer and two civilians - even civilians who understood what they were up against - it shouldn't have been over that quickly and easily."  
Faith looked at Pete, expecting a reply, but all he said was, "Let's get in the car," and he stalked off to the rusty Mondeo that he ran around in. Marcus looked at Faith, then, with a shrug, followed. Faith waited a moment longer, barely noticing the misty rainfall. She looked up and down the quiet lane, past the lights of Ryans, police sirens sounding like a banshee far in the distance, rain forming dank puddles in the road. Marcus leaned his head out of the window of Pete's car and motioned to Faith to get in, but she shook her head, raindrops falling from her raven hair. She continued to look up and down the road, not focusing on anything in particular, letting her vision and her senses wash swim over the scene. Marcus leaned out further and said, "Faith - " and then the figure moved, slipped out of the shadows at the end of the road from behind the Transit where it had been hiding, and fairly bolted round the corner. "OH, GODDAMIT!" Faith shouted, and took off after the figure, feet pounding through the puddles as she sped down the road. She turned the corner barely four seconds after the figure had rounded it, but four seconds was all the other had needed, for it was nowhere to be seen. Faith looked both ways; there was not even a car in sight. Whoever it was had lost her.  
She turned and went back round the corner to Pete's car, where both of the men were standing with identical expressions of childlike dismay on their faces. Marcus, in particular, looked ready to vomit. Faith rather hoped he would. "I'm sorry," he mumbled with his chin on his chest as Faith reached them. Faith ignored him, and sat in the passenger seat of the car. Wordlessly, Pete did the same, getting in on the driver's side. Marcus, head still down, got in the back. Pete immediately drove off.  
****************  
  
"Well?" he asked. "Is it true?" The figure slouched in the seat opposite lit a cigarette, and drew in a long smoke before he answered. "Yeah, it's her, man. She hooked up with two of the Council boys." "Shit." "You could say that," the other responded. He leaned forward. "It ain't all bad news, though. The Madman sent some goons over." "Yeah?" the first responded. "Gimme a fag if you have some juicy stuff to tell me, bruv." The smoker pulled out a battered pack of Bensons, tossed them over. They were caught in a large hand, festooned with gaudy rings. Ring man pulled out a cigarette and lit one. "Tell on, Jimmy, tell on. It's getting late, you know." Jimmy said, "Madman sent some kids over to see if she was up to scratch is what I'm thinkin'" he said. "And is she?" "Hell yes, bruv," Jimmy responded. "She wiped 'em out. Those two council boys did a job too, you know?" Rings smiled, showing his dripping fangs. "Becks one of 'em?" he asked. "Yup! He lookin' good!" "I like Becks," Rings said. "Boy got what it takes. So the Madman tries it with the Slayer and comes up six and out, right? That's gonna make him even more crazy. Good deal, good deal. Couple of little pushes could send him over the edge, right?" Jimmy put out his cigarette, and leaned forward through the smoke. "Perhaps we could do a bit of pushing ourselves, boss? Get some heat on Lucius? " "How do we do that, Jimmy, without alerting every vamp this side of the river to us? We gotta stay low key, remember. This all rests on the Slayer, now. Follow her, see what she does. I wanna know every move she makes, right? Figure out if I can use her." Rings grinned, showing more of his fangs. "She could make some mighty fine bait!" Jimmy started to laugh. Rings joined in. A couple at the bar looked over indignantly; one look at the two silenced them.  
  
****************  
  
About half an hour later down the road, Pete took a right turn that led off the main road and down a small residential street. He parked outside a large block of flats that bore the legend "KING COURT". "This is where I live," he said to Faith. "Five star, huh?" she replied. "What the hell am I doing here?" "If I take you to the council now, what do you think would happen?" Marcus responded. "Inquests, reports, analysis - just for your appearance. It would be hours before we even got to the attack, let alone who they were and what they were doing. It's going to be much quicker for us to figure things out using our own resources for the time being." He got out of the car, stopped, and turned back to the Slayer. His eyes were dark and serious. "You'll have to trust us, Faith." Reluctantly, she stepped out of the car and followed the two men towards the tower block.  
  
****************  
  
Lucius turned around, closing the book he had been reading softly, and regarded the messenger with a gentle smile. "All of them?" he asked mildly. "Y-yes, Master," he answered, literally shaking in his boots. "My scout reports that she had help, however." The gentle, mad smile vanished from the vampire's face. "Help? From whom?" "Err, I - I'm not sure, Highness," the servant replied. "They might have been human, however. They vanquished your children with some ease." "She was meant to do that, fool," said Morse hotly. "But she wasn't supposed to have help!" Lucius suddenly threw the book at the messenger. It struck with awful, inhuman force, and the assorted vampires and slaves to a man winced as the spine collided with the servant's face with a crack. Blood poured from his nose in a gush. So quickly only Morse saw him move, Lucius was on the man, licking the blood from his spurting nose at the same time as snapping his neck with one clawed hand. "Master," called Morse, a little taken aback. Lucius whipped round, blood glittering darkly from his fangs and his claws, "we will need to send out more scouts. We must know who these allies are." Lucius shook his head, sending drops of blood flying off in various directions. He did it again, and again, and finally his eyes cleared. "As always, my son, you are correct," he said, in the same mild, almost friendly tone. "She passed our first test, didn't she?" Morse nodded. "This time, however, we will up the stakes somewhat." He grinned, and Morse could see the madness return to his eyes. "This time we will send some of our own," he said.  
  
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Pete's flat was small and neat, and almost totally devoid of character. There were no pictures on the walls or shelves, there was no television ("television rots your brain cells" Pete had said by way of explanation when Faith mentioned this ) and no stereo system; there was a small radio, however, in the kitchen. The only adornment Pete had afforded his living space with was a huge bookcase in the living room, which covered the back and far walls in an L-shape, and a coffee table, overflowing with newspapers, in the middle of the room. Books were everywhere; on the floor, on the armchairs and settee, on the windowsill, in the hall. Somehow, Faith had expected more of him.  
Faith swiped an armload of books off one armchair and sat down. "So boys, when does the party really start around here?" she asked. Marcus sat down in the other armchair, rather uncomfortably on the pile of books that occupied it, and gave her a cross little stare. "We are serious people, miss!" he exclaimed fiercely. "We don't have time for frivolous games and nonsense - " "Ah, Marcus, here's that X-Men limited edition you were looking for," Pete said, handing him a battered comic book. Marcus blushed and seemed to shrink back in his armchair. Pete squeezed into a tiny space on the settee, squirmed a little to make a bit of room, gave up and stood again. He looked at Marcus. "The one you killed," he said. "Anything strike you about him?" "Well, his bloody elbow struck me, that's for sure," Marcus grumbled, rubbing his bruise again, but he was shaking his head as he did so. "Nothing, Peter." "I'm sure I recognised one of them, you know," Pete said in a distant, musing voice. "Something about him, some mannerism. God, I should know this!" "Hold on," Faith interjected. "It doesn't matter, right? I mean, they're vampires. They all come from the same guy, right? It doesn't matter who they are, we just have to find out where they hang out an' in we go an' boom! Get out your Shake 'n' Vac, 'cos you're gonna need it!" She was standing up, energised, eyes alight, and then she saw their faces. Both the men had broad smiles. "Um, Faith, this is London," Pete said, trying not to laugh, "eight million people live here. The city covers an area of about one hundred square miles. There are at least -" he paused, the smile no longer on his face " at least thirty-four different bands of vampires within city limits. That's just the ones we're aware of, too. There have been people here for over a thousand years, and that means there have been vampires here for a thousand years too. The ones we faced tonight could have come from anyone and from anywhere."  
"Don't worry, peeps!" said a happy, murderous voice from the doorway, "I know who they came from." They all turned to see the newcomer, fear freezing their blood as the creature began to laugh. 


	4. Mystery Guest

( I know the layout of this story is rather crappy; rest assured I am trying to sort the problems out as we speak. Thanks for reading...)  
  
Chapter Five  
  
They all turned to stare at the newcomer. She was tall, taller than Faith, with jet-black curly hair down past her shoulders, and creamy, milk chocolate skin. She looked about sixteen, with wide, luminous eyes expressing a certain amount if humour at the situation. She was dressed in blue jeans, with a ripped T-shirt bearing the profound statement "I am what I am, and you can all FUCK OFF!" and a picture of the rap star Eminem.  
Marcus groaned aloud. With a tone of complete disappointment he said, "Lauren! What are you doing here?" Pete, Faith, noticed, was grinning openly. The girl entered the room briskly, still chuckling to herself a bit and rubbing her hands. She squashed herself into the seat next to Marcus and focused her steady eyes on Faith. "So, you're the Slayer, huh?" she asked, waving her right hand in the general direction of Pete. "He said that we'd never get a Slayer in London, don't want that sort of attention so close to the Council's headquarters, but I never believed him. London's the greatest city in the world, I mean! Stands to reason, doesn't it? We have to have a Slayer, 'cos we have the most vamps, and demons, and all sorts of other nasty business going on. Gotta say though, I thought you'd be a bit bigger- " "LAUREN!" Marcus thundered. "That is ENOUGH!" His face was red; he looked the absolute epitome of embarrassment. Faith looked up at Pete, who was standing by the window, evidently keeping a watch for other uninvited guests. She looked back to Marcus, who was controlling himself with some difficulty. Lauren, on the other hand grinned impudently at Faith, and tipped her a wink. Faith smiled back; she couldn't help it. "So, you boys gonna introduce me, or what?" the Slayer asked.  
Marcus sighed again. Faith thought that this guy could probably sigh for England in the Olympics. Then he spoke. "This meddling child-" "makes me sound like one of the Scooby gang, doesn't he?" Lauren broke in. Pete cracked up, and Faith smiled too, remembering her own Scooby gang with some fondness, and a great deal of surprise. Marcus's face took on a resigned aspect. "This meddling child," he began again, "is my sister Lucy's best friend. They went to school together, played together – they've known each other all their lives, and, of course, me also. Now Lucy has a rather unfortunate predilection for, uh, a distressing tendency to voice her... ah, a complicating lack of..." "She's got a big mouth," Lauren said comfortably. She shot a withering glance at Marcus. "Can't you ever talk straight?" "Yes. Right. Anyway, Lucy told Lauren our family history one day when they were about eleven, and Lauren became unwholesomely fascinated with the whole business; vampires, demons and Slayers. She has been badgering us and following us around for the last five years, trying to force us to send her to Cheltenham for training."  
"Which I don't really need," added Lauren tartly, "but that's the only way they'll let you in the Council orders. So I've been trying to show these two how utterly brilliant I am – "she threw a furious glare at Pete – "with no luck whatsoever. But!" she trumpeted triumphantly, "they'll have to take some notice of me this time." Faith leaned forward. "Why, sugar?" she asked quickly. The girl drew back a little; suddenly fully aware of who she spoke to, her eyes grew wide and fear-filled. "I – I – " "Hey," said Faith, "hey, girl, it's alright." She laughed, almost to herself. Looking up at Pete, she shook her head ruefully. "I guess you know everything, huh? Yeah, I was a wild one for a while. Lost control of myself for a bit, went over to the dark side. I was a five star bitch, an' you can take that to the bank all right. But I know that, and that's gotta count for something, right?" Marcus and Pete were silent, regarding her in the way that only Watchers can. Then Lauren laughed, and the tension in the room broke.  
"What the hell!" she cried. Faith was beginning to get the feeling that the girl could not possibly speak in a whisper. "Knowing that you can kill me in a heartbeat doesn't change anything, and knowing that you won't helps a lot. So! Here's the deal. The gang that jumped you in Ryan's didn't come from far away, I know that. One of those dirty hot dog sellers on Oxford Street – and don't even think of trying one, Faith; they're bloody horrible – saw them not ten minutes before they attacked you. Marlon says they came from the west, which means Notting Hill, and that – wait for it, Pete – they all got out of two Audi A6s-" Pete cursed vociferously, and Marcus groaned. "What?" asked Faith. "What does that mean?" "- and the last piece of the puzzle is the fact that one of the cars was being driven by none other than Sanjeev Ul-Haq." Lauren sat back, with a worried frown and a smirk of satisfaction both seeming to occupy her face at the same time.  
Marcus had recovered his composure more quickly than Pete, who was still cursing and thumping his fist against the wall. "This is bad news," he said. Faith and Lauren both responded at the same time, "No shit, Sherlock!" They looked at each other and grinned.  
"Care to tell me why it's bad news?" Faith asked. Lauren sat back in the sofa, quiet, waiting for Marcus's answer. Instead it was Pete who spoke, through gritted teeth. "Notting Hill – well, we call it Rotting Hill – is home to two vicious bands of vampires. A particularly nasty creature called Tagg leads one of them. His lot seem to be thirsty all the time, and swipe people off the streets nightly. Their bodies are usually picked out of the river by the Met a couple of days later, completely exsanguinated. They're nothing to worry about... I mean they have no interest in us. The other group has power, influence, and money, hence the flash cars. They used to just content themselves with the usual nocturnal activities; murder, murder and murder, you know the drill. Recently, however, they have seemed to become far more dangerous than just another band of vampires. They have recruited a large number of other demons, humans and creatures to what they call their 'cause' – ridding the city of other vampires and gaining control of the whole of London. As their numbers have swelled their actions have become more vicious, and they have not limited their attacks to the night. A few months ago, one of their number attacked Mayor Livingston –"Faith shuddered at the mention of the Mayor – "in full view of more than a thousand people on the banks of the Thames, at midday. They are more akin to a terrorist group than a band of vampires; they are even more ruthless, because they feel that they have a cause. We do not know who their leader is; he has always kept himself hidden, but the few members the Council took told us absolutely nothing."  
Pete ran a shaking hand through his blond hair. "The fact they came after us in Ryan's tells us for certain that they know who you are. They would never bother themselves with two young, untested members of the Council, so they were after you. As Marcus said, this is indeed bad news." Abruptly he turned, and left the room.  
Faith looked over at Lauren. All the girl's earlier braggadocio had left her, but she did not seem as frightened as the others. Faith asked her, "How did you know this, Lauren?" Lauren stirred, looked over to the Slayer, and smiled. "I went to see the twins," she said. Marcus gave a brief glance at the two from the other side of the room ( he had left his seat to continue Pete's vigil at the window when Pete had left the room), grunted softly, then went back to his study of the street. "The twins," Lauren continued, "are two lovely old girls who live in Dalston, behind the Queen Elizabeth pub on Berken Road. Marion and Miriam. They're psychics – well, they say they are, but if they were really psychic they'd be able to guess the lottery numbers and get rich, wouldn't they? I reckon they just keep their ears to the ground. She told me that the boys would meet 'somebody who had been lost, and was now found', and that they would take her to Ryan's. I was on my way there when Marlon told me about the vamps. So, I came here to wait for you."  
Pete re-entered the room, with a large bag in one hand, and a huge iron axe in the other. He hefted it a couple of times, shook his head while inspecting the edge, and then handed it, haft first, to Faith. "The best weapon I have, I'm afraid. It is blunt, and it is a little rusty, ah, I used it to prop open the back door last summer and it got rained on, but I think it'll serve." He shifted the bag on his hand. "I have a few stakes in here, as well. That should be enough for you to get by with; it shouldn't take you too long to get to Archer House."  
"Archer House? What the hell is that?" Faith asked with some asperity, but Pete carried on as if he hadn't heard her, turning to Lauren. "Well, darling, you wanted your chance to show us what you've got, this is it. You're going with her. When you get there, ask for Ann Marshall in the Research Department. She knows us –"he stopped at Lauren's knowing smile. "What?" he asked. "I know Ann," she replied. "Fat girl? Greasy hair? She is soooo in love with you," she cooed. "Yes, well," Pete mumbled. "get to her – they'll let you in even at this time if you give her name – and introduce Faith. Ann'll take it form there." He blew out his cheeks. "Marcus, you ready?" he asked. "If I must be," came the answer. Pete nodded and headed for the door. Marcus followed him. "WAIT!" Faith shouted, startling even Lauren. "Tell me what the hell is going on here!" Pete stared at the Slayer for a second, then dropped his eyes. "Marcus and I are going across the river, to try and get some answers from some of the vampires on the South bank. They can be amenable at times, if approached in the right manner. We'll meet you at Archer House at dawn." Faith clearly heard Marcus mutter, "if we live that long..." but she ignored him. "You didn't answer my question, pretty boy. What is Archer House?" She asked, but as a cold, hard ball seemed to settle in the pit of her stomach, she realised she knew the answer already. "Archer House," said Pete, "is based in Richmond Park, not far from Twickenham Stadium. It is the headquarters of the Watchers Council." 


End file.
